Teasing
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Just because he's good at waiting doesn't mean Tadokoro's not going to look." Makishima lounges, Tadokoro waits.


Tadokoro is a patient man. If he _knows_ something is coming, knows he _will_ have the conclusion he wants, he can wait all day before actually getting his hands on it. It, in this case, being Makishima, who is _not_ a patient man and has been winding steadily tighter and tighter all day. By the time the other club members are packing up to go home, Makishima is sprawled out over enough space for three people, languid like he's melting slowly under the pressure of _waiting_. It would be hard to stand if Tadokoro weren't who is he, which is certainly Makishima's intention in stretching one arm out over the bench he's currently leaning against and tipping his head so far to the side that all his hair falls in a waterfall of color over his back and shoulder.

And, well, just because he's good at waiting doesn't mean Tadokoro's not going to _look_.

By the time the space is empty Makishima has his head pillowed on his arm, eyes half-shut like he's thinking about going to sleep or dying of boredom. He doesn't move even when Tadokoro gets to his feet and steps in towards him, beyond opening one eye to gaze up at the other.

"Do you need me to carry you home?" Tadokoro asks.

Makishima sighs melodramatically and extends a hand; after a moment Tadokoro takes it, and Makishima pulls himself to his feet in a wave of green.

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea," he says only after he is back over his own feet, tipping slightly in past the edge of Tadokoro's personal space so the taller boy can smell the warmth of Makishima's hair.

Tadokoro lets Makishima's hand go, brings his hands up to settle over the smaller boy's shoulders. Makishima relaxes under the touch, arching back and letting his hip go sideways until his waist is outlining a smooth curve in the air. His eyes are still half-lidded but it's not drowsiness turning them dark with shadows as he looks up at Tadokoro, angles his head so his hair falls over half his face.

"Going all that way by myself sounds exhausting." One of Makishima's arms comes up to curl against the back of Tadokoro's neck, his long fingers pressing hard against the muscles of the larger boy's shoulders. The fact that it pulls him in closer, that the angle of his head has become more suggestion than aesthetics, is secondary, more a side effect of Makishima's eternal lounge than anything else.

"Mm," Tadokoro hums, low and only half-listening, because when he pulls Makishima in the other boy comes, and when he lowers his mouth an inch Makishima's lips are already parting in anticipation of the contact. The hand at the back of his neck goes liquid-soft as their mouths touch, fingernails scraping up over Tadokoro's short-cropped hair and dragging over his scalp. For his part Tadokoro lets one of Makishima's arms go, which arm promptly sweeps in around his waist so Makishima's fingers can splay over his back, and drags his hand through the mass of green waves falling around the other boy's shoulders. It's ridiculous to have so much hair - Tadokoro always idly wonders if Makishima will get it caught somewhere during a race - but it's soft, too, softer and smoother than Tadokoro's own hair has ever been, and it slips over his fingers and around his wrist like a caress. Sometimes he thinks the best part of kissing Makishima is touching his hair.

Makishima slides his tongue against Tadokoro's and arches in to press against the other boy's broad chest, boneless with grace, and Tadokoro almost laughs as he revises his consideration, as he always does, decides that _this_ is the best part of kissing Makishima. The little purring noises of encouragement he can feel humming against his lips, the fingers pressing up against his skin, the whole slender length of Makishima up against him under his hands and against his chest, and then the other boy gets one of his legs between Tadokoro's and grinds up against him, and this time it's Tadokoro who offers encouragement in the form of a low groan.

Makishima pulls back from Tadokoro's mouth, though his fingers are still winding up against his scalp and his carefully placed leg shifts as he moves back, pushes up arrythmically against Tadokoro so the other boy huffs a laugh that is a little too low to not be a moan.

"Exhausting, like I said," he whines, sliding his hands forward so he can press a thumb against Tadokoro's cheek.

"Are you suggesting we stay here?" Tadokoro asks, just to be clear. "Or are you just being a tease?"

"I'm never a tease," Makishima says in absolute disregard of the evidence. He leans in against Tadokoro's cheek, flicks his tongue against the other boy's ear so Tadokoro shudders and his hold on Makishima's arm goes tight for a moment. "I'm suggesting we go back to your place." Teeth scrape over Tadokoro's skin as Makishima nips at his ear. "It's closer."

Tadokoro laughs, drops his hand from Makishima's hair to his hip to pull him in tight against him for a moment. Makishima hisses as Tadokoro reciprocates his own movement with interest, and when Tadokoro pulls away the other boy's eyes are gratifyingly out of focus for a moment.

"Okay," he says, extending a hand to Makishima. The other stares at him for a moment before pulling himself back together into sweeping elegance, shoving his hair back from his face and reaching out to take the offered contact. Tadokoro's fingers interlace with Makishima's thinner ones, Tadokoro's hold carefully gentle while Makishima presses grooves into his hand with the force of his grip, and they step out into the fading sunlight together.


End file.
